An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

shoe on the other foot  the change makes people so uncomfortable  the fit feels wrong it pinches your toes bunions and callouses they can't stop thinking about how it's inconvenient but if you've always worn  it on that familiar foot  you don't find it strange at all

Memories are fleeting brief cracks of time sometimes so clear  other times so muddled  she does not remember  my face or my voice  I live so far away like a short story in only one printed volume until I am there in person  and somehow suddenly  it produces a spark  of prior knowledge

They say  the place is haunted  by the ghosts  of ages past  who do not know  they are dead  or who want to know  just why  no one  can see them cry or no one  can remember  their names if you listen  very closely  you might hear  their whispers  though they  cannot be understood.

An egg for breakfast  with shell so fragile  yet that is a blank canvas  for all hues of color a pinhole in the top the yolk for a tasty omelette from wax relief  stark white lines scratched in the surface for those Easter hunts where the bunny hides surprises for the children. to the priceless pieces  favored by emperors tiny jewels attached with the greatest of care a masterpiece of delicacy unmatched by modern means.

dewdrop in the morning  trembles at the edge  of a budding flower  not knowing  if it will fall over or linger for just  a while longer a razor's edge of possibility one or the other will gravity win or will it cling long enough for  the sun's drying touch

Bathe in a bright moonbeam feel the forest all around  the power of pristine perfection  the peace of a profound soul.  Look up into the light show the hidden halves within the truth tells the tale all the lies soon lie bare. See the stark reminder  of fate that fuels the universe  the goddess grants a lovely boon  that sends shadows through the night